Just plain gross

I would like to preface this journal entry by saying that I am not one of those annoying girly girly types. I am actually pretty tough. I don't mind getting dirty and I can kill spiders on my own. As a matter of fact I am pretty laid back about most of the stuff god throws at me except in the presence of birds. Even then I don't mind the little birds it's the big ones, like those crazy colorful parrots that people parade around on their shoulders, or filthy crows, pigeons, and sea gulls. I don't mind song birds much as long as they aren't flying anywhere near the vacinity of my head. What I am getting at is that I am chill, mostly.



Today I wasn't so chill. It all started at the mall. I was walking up one of those ramps to get to the top level of the mall when I heard the two dudes behind me snickering. One of them, said, in his oh so California way,

"Dude we should tell her." Snicker, snicker.

I knew they were talking about me. They had to be; who else could they possibly be snickering about. For an instant I paniced remembering my recent trip to the Nordstrom bathroom. My first thought was that I had tucked my dress into my underwear (which by the way are my ugliest pair of granny panties., floral print and oversized0.) I actually did that once during my senior year in high school. I walked all the way to my English class with one of my long hippie skirts tucked into my underwear before Katie Harken whispered

"Your butt is hanging out!"

Anyway, I causally did a butt check and thank god my dress was in tact. I brushed them off convincing myself that I was paranoid. Clearly they were not snickering at me.


Near the food court Jake kept hounding me for food

"I am hungry, so hungry!" he kept saying, not so casually hinting that he wanted some greasy mall food.

I gave in making one last pit stop before heading to the parking garage. We stopped at la salsa. That's where it all went down. While sitting outside patiently waiting for our grub I decided that my hair was in a way too sloppy bun. I took my rubber band out and ran my fingers through my hair to sweep it neatly back into a pony tail. That's when I felt it. It was some sort of lump.

"What the heck is that?" I thought to myself.

I ran my fingers through my hair a second time and felt "it" again. It was big! I was certain it had legs!

Oh. My. god. I began to panic.

"Jake is there a bug in my hair?" I shrieked in his direction. "Jake look at my hair!"

By that time the people at the table nextdoor were gawking. Jacob didn't move. He looked terrified!

"Jake!" I pleaded.

There was a look of sheer horror on his face.

"Get it out!" I hissed.

By the size of his pupils I realized that we were not dealing with your everyday, run of the mill bug! I turned to the table of teenage girls next to me. As casually as my situation permited me to be, I said,

"I think there is a humongous bug in my hair. Is there a humongous bug in my hair? If there is don't tell me because I think I might start screaming. Will one of you take it out? Please! Please!"

By that point I was begging and on the verge of tears, or a frantic break down that involved ripping out my hair, stripping, and finding the nearest fountain to bathe in. All I could think about was that there was no way in hell that I was touching anything that big thaht has decided to take up residency in my hair. One of the girls got up to look at my hair.

"Holy shit." She said "I'm going to need some napkins"

That was not what I wanted to hear.

"Do not tell me how big it is or what it is, until it is out because I think I am going to totally freak out!"

She grabbed a handful of napkins and pulled it out quickly and effortlessly. I mumbled something about her beng my hero and then asked

"What was it?".

"Some weird looking green beetle with wings. That thing was huge!"

Then it came back to me, the flying beetle on the 2nd floor near Arden b that Jake was mesmerized by. It was flying near us and then oddly disappeared, apparently into my hair. It had been in my hair for a good 15 minutes. Never again will I wear a bun for fear that another one will try to make a home in my hair. I will now have to add flying beetles to my list of phobias! Gross! Why does everything about my life have to be so hilarious?!

On strike

Amelia is on a napping strike. It started last week and has trickled into this week. Multiple times a day she will tell me

"no nap."

She is obsessed with having fun. I desperately need my down time especially in a house of four little people under the age of 8. I need her to nap like a frat house needs its beer bong. Naps are like crack. I neeeeeed them! It's when I get things done or when I get nothing at all done and sit on ass peacefully! For one whole hour, sometimes two, I get to relax for a moment uninterrupted from the dramatic pleas of two year olds. I love naps. Lehlahni, the little girl I baby-sit for almost always conks out for a nap without a problem as long as she has her two blankets and a pacifier. Amelia is much more challenging. She needs her pillow situated just so and her pink blanket not her purple one, and while I am at it her music box on, and her dog stuffed animal not her doll. While demanding all of these nap time essentials she looks at me like there is something seriously wrong with me. Like how could I have not known that today of all days she must have her black stuffed dog with the red collar. How stupid must I be for thinking her doll would suffice when clearly today she needs her dog! After all of that preparation she makes her way down stairs not 5 minutes after I have turned off her bedroom light. Casually she will say

"hey mom." She always has a cute little innocent smile on, along with that adorable bed tousled hair and will try to charm me with one of her toys by saying "I share with you."

She is one charming little manipulator. When I force her back up to her room there is always a big protest and crocodile tears.


After these little episodes she will take a fake nap for half an hour-45 minutes tops. Afterwards she has a severe case of the grouch. By the time 5 o'clock rolls around she is foaming at the mouth and has sprung a second head. Amelia is not cute without a nap. As result of the nap protest she lost it at the dinner table last night when I handed her a piece of bread instead of salad.

"Salad! Salad! I want salad, Saaaallllllllllllllaaaadddddddddd!!"

Our daughter is a psychopath. After the salad incident there was the shoe one, where I dared to put her shoes on her feet instead of allowing her to do it. Clearly that was the wrong thing to do.

Without her naps the girl is a wreck. At this rate she will be a frightening teen. When I envision my kids as teenagers I break out in a cold sweat. I was the most atrocious punk of a teen. I worry that I will be paid back in full with Amelia. She is two and already my teen years are looking good. I am in for it.

Camping again

This weekend we experienced the greatest camping trip of our lives. There were exactly three aspects that made it fantabulous.

1. The weather (beautiful)
2. Sammy (for being so funny and looking after the little ones)
3. The adventure

Camping with 8 children can have its ups and downs. There's the fighting, the name calling, the intake of way too many cookies and juice. There's the whining, the dirt and grim, the ganging up on one kid, and the temper tantrums. I think we have all finally gotten the swing of this camping thing. We have realized the importance of putting the kids to bed at a decent hour for some adult time. Most importantly we have learned that if given the oppurtunity all our kids can act like embarassing punks. We have finally gotten the hang of what kind of food to bring. The Lettows are good for their food, the Colts for Sammy (Amelia and Fletcher's adopted mommy) and the Braun's for our good looks and charm of course.




We surfed this weekend, we meaning the ladies, Nicole, Molly and I. It was a first for all of us. I think we were all kind of impressive for first timers. I was proud of myself for getting out there. I have this extreme fear of the ocean that wasn't helped by watching that frightening movie--Open Water, oh, and Jaws at the tender age of ten. I still sometimes hop into bed for fear that's jaws is underneath it trying to bit my ankles off.

There were a few moments out in the water where I thought I saw something swimming by me. I had to scream over to Aaron to stand by me and ask him if he thought I might be eaten alive by a man hungry shark. He thinks I'm crazy. I know that I am crazy. I think I am falling in love with surfing despite the whole shark thing.